The Breaking Point
by Pernotti
Summary: Just what happens when two deadly assassin do reach their breaking point? Well the answer is simple. They find solace in one another, in simple, raw, and quite frankly almost animalistic ways.


→ "You sure you don't want bad?" he growls, fisting her red hair as his neck strains to meet her plush lips. Lips he's been craving for longer than should be allowed. He takes her, claims Natasha's mouth with his for a good string of seconds that bleed into minutes and he conveys every deepest need, /primal urge/ he can with that kiss alone. When he pulls away, it's with a sounding pop that leaves Clint Barton panting and frozen for a fraction of a beat.

" Yeah…..No…." Her words are broken up by strained breaths of her own before her hands plant firmly on either side of his face, and not so much as offering him a coherent answer she kisses him again; fingers curling to grip the back of his neck snugly as her body curls against his, diminishing every inch of space between them. " Bad sounds….. incredibly good right about now." She breathes against his lips, her own already swollen and stinging following the sheer intensity of his kisses, but it's worth it. Most definitely worth it.

→ " Yea?" he asks. It's rhetorical but he loves that she makes no question about his first inquiry. Bad. Sounds. Good. He's getting at his button and zip, offering a sharp tug of his jeans and boxers until they're wrapped about his thighs, not even down to his ankles. He's too caught up in the moment. Clint's hand slides to the back of her neck, anchoring her face to his as they exchange heated kisses. Desperate kisses. Kisses that say 'I love you' better than any words ever could. His other arm loops around her waist. She's mine, he thinks. She's fucking mine and I fucking love her and we fucking love each other.

It's the sheer desperation of his actions that has a tug of a smile pulling at the outer corner of her mouth. Her hands slip up under his shirt, flat palms carefully traversing well defined muscle of his shoulders, down the smooth curve of his back, and when her hands reach his ass, she offers a cheeky squeeze, the lazy smile that so easily adorned her face, breaking into a wide smile that has the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Pulling back to catch her breath, she wastes little time in shedding her own shirt. Reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, both left to pool beneath her.

He knocks off the articles of cloth, well away from them. That squeeze she gave him has his tongue tucked between his teeth, fending back the feisty smile threatening to form. His fingers give light scratches, indicating how badly he needs to feel her. Within and out. He pulls at her bottoms until they join the pile of scattered fabrics, and he sits her in his lap. The gesture is quick and leaves no room for arguing.

Her hips instinctively rock against his. Hands resting either side of his neck as her forehead falls against his. " Hey, there." Her words are a low rumble in the back of her throat. A languid purr that has even the hairs on the back of her own neck lifting as her chest presses flush to his and her hips drop to grind against his.

The length of her body becomes a free zone of exploration. He lifts his torso, just enough to nose along her collar bone. His hands meander up and down her back until they settle down, holding fistfuls of her ass. Clint smirks; nose wrinkling with delight that she's in his arms and on top of him. His own hips lift up to meet hers, and as her core drives over the length of his shaft he can't help but tilt his hips so the tip of his member teases her folds just the same as she teases him.

Her body pauses atop his, her jaw tensed, and a low moan of both sheer need and anticipation bubbles in her chest, has her legs wrapping around him even tighter before her hips roll steadily into his once more, his tip slipping between slick folds and moving up to brush against her clit as her teeth grinding together, and as she dips her head down to kiss him once more, each exchange becomes more heated than the last until each exhale is no more than a desperate little whimper.

She rocks on him, but with a good placed thrust, he's in. Slipped past parted petals of slick wet that make him slam his eyes shut and grunt softly. Clint grips at her rear, practically clawing at the sides until he draws back a hand and gives her a profound smack to her ass. Picking up a pace with every plunge, his heart races at 100 miles an hour. She has him crawling with anticipation, crawling with heat, crawling with a fever she can only satisfy.

The White hot stab of pleasure that shoots up through her core has her back arching and her eyes closing.

Her movements are almost feline in the way her body moves atop of his, and as the flat of his palm stings against her skin, it draws out both a whimper and a further whine of pleasure as she feels him fill and stretch her.

Lips meet his, working from his jaw,across his cheek, one hand braces itself in the back of his neck whilst the other has her finger wrapping around a flexed and straining bicep. " I've missed you…" She breathes against his lips, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. " I've missed this, us." She declares further between additional kisses.

It's when she says 'us' that he loses it. His body ruts into hers until there's a built up tension at the base of his belly and it winds up a knot inside of him. Clint tugs at her lips, leaving them swollen and moist, but when he can't breath between the exchanges he parts with them so that he could get that knot to come apart. Rolling hips delve into her, burying his throbbing length deep in her walls…he tenses. A heavy breath leaves him and he mumbles,

→ "F-fuck…"

well placed dive and it sinks him to the hilt where he comes, oh how he comes hard. Clint's entire face changes, features contorting to the expression of dripping lust and bliss as his body jolts from such a heavy release.

It came far sooner than he expected, almost by surprise, but god did it feel amazing.

It's only when he stops feeling the room spin that he gulps and pants,

→ "Tell me you love me…"

It's like flicking a switch, though it warrants a reaction she hadn't entirely expected, but not one that isn't welcomed. Each snap of his hips has a gasp dragged from the back of her throat, curled fingers pull down his back leaving angry red lines in their wake.

They're marks of possession, of ownership. He is hers, entirely hers. Beyond what any ring or piece of paper will ever, ever tell. This is all him. He's calling the shots, well versed in every inch of her body. Perhaps more so than she ever will.

The warmth of him spilling into her has his own jolt of release mirrored in her own frame as her body tenses atop his, and her forehead falls to rest against his shoulder. She's so close, tip toeing on the edge of her release, that a few gentle rolls of her hips against his has her come undone around him, just as his mumbled words reach her and her frame quakes atop his.

" I love you." She whispers, slowly kissing down the smooth column of his neck, across the front of his throat, and up the other side, the same sentiment repeated over and over again as she does so. Pulling back, she looks down and looks at him lazily, the back of her index finger stroking across his cheek.

" I love you, Clint Barton. Nothing will ever change that."

He stares at her. His wife…right there and so real. Not dead. Not a mirage. Clint's hands reach up to her face, framing her between strong hands. Hands that had many stories to tell and felt rough with the various callouses they carried with them. He held her face, and stared beneath tilted brows, wondering…why did they have to miss each other this way? Why couldn't they be enough for one another? If she was his other half…why didn't he feel whole all the time? Was he worrying too much? Had he been left with a deeply embedded paranoia that…that maybe he'd lost her in more ways than one.

Nothing will ever change that, she said. I love you, Clint Barton, she said.

Clint stared at her as if he couldn't believe she was there and although there was a tight ache in his throat, he remained calm,

…..

…..

…..

→"*Ya tebya lyublyu, Natasha…"

(* I love you, Natasha )

All too well she knows she can't speak a word to ease the worry that is so openly written across his face. That look in his eyes as they meet hers, lost almost. The crease and pucker of his brow, and the way he holds her. As if she's the most important thing on this earth. Then again, as conceited as it may seem, she knows that to him, she is. For far part her own self worth. Her own well being. He is the most important thing to her. He's her reason for fighting, for never giving up. He's the reason she came back.

So she sits, and evenly she meets his gaze. One hand comes to rest delicately atop his as she turns her head, and eyes closed presses gentle kisses to the palm of his hand. Harsh callouses brush against the plush gentle skin of her lips, and visibly she relaxes.

" It's good to be home." She whispers, before bright eyes open, tears welling and daring to fall. Tears of pure unbridled happiness. " My hawk, my home." Her words are whispered as she guided a his hand back to her cheek and brings her forehead to rest against his once more.

A rough clearing in his throat emerges, and he gulps down whatever discomfort was there. Washes it away with a swallow. He smooths his thumbs against her jawline as soon as she places his hands back where they began. Clint doesn't know if she's realized…he speaks it…her mother tongue…it wasn't some kind of secret he's held onto…but rather it's a skill he had forced on himself when he was at his lowest point. And the momentum to cement that skill picked up as she had returned. He'd done it on his own time, had help from CHICK, but only now he'd chosen to reveal it…he spoke Russian…not fluently of course, but enough of it… …what did it matter? He just wanted her there just as they were. His lips pressed into her brow, once and twice for reassurance.

→ "My Nat…."

" Always your Nat." She amends, and silently, save saying another word, she wraps her arms around his shoulders tightly. It's an embrace she's needed for far longer than she's willing to admit. To feel the warmth of his skin against hers. The beating of his pulse beneath where her fingers brush against his neck.

She knows she should move. For still she's settled atop him, neither of them wanting to relinquish their hold on the other. But begrudgingly she moves from his lap. Her arms and legs unwrap from around him, but save collapsing down next to him, she gets to her feet and holds her hand down to him. " What do you say we go lay down. Just us." Her fingertips tickle across his cheek before moving to push up through his dishevelled hair.

" Can't think of anything I want more…Can you?"


End file.
